Archive for the ‘Guest Hosts’ Category

Cynthianne From Albuquerque Finally Puts Out; Is It Incest?

Wednesday, January 30th, 2013


So. Never let it be said that your shit doesn’t come around to kick you in your own butt. I asked Cynthianne to do a guest posting and she did. Here it is in its unaltered and uncensored states. OK, except that I changed the font size to 13 and double spacelated the entire dealio.

I will, however, precondition readers to several modifying facts: First, if I can’t drink Carta Blanca I don’t drink beer; Second, Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson did attend the after and aforementioned meeting. As I’ve been in serious needs of sexing, I flew her in on the contexts of needing emergency therapies and mental adjustments. While those contexts are accurate in their essences, they were but smokescreens used, by me, in another feeble attempt (attempts) to bed my lovely ex-wife.

Anyway, and without further ado, I give you Cynthianne from Albuquerque:



Mooner Afflicted with More Unsuitable Relatives


Guest post from “Cousin” Cynthianne



The Roe v. Wade celebration at the capitol was fun, with birthday cake and speeches and signs and even an impromptu little parade down Old Santa Fe Trail. Sadly, Mooner didn’t make the rally, to his loss. It was probably the highest concentration of liberal cougars ever seen in Santa Fe, if not the whole state, and he missed them one and all. You snooze, you lose, Mooner.


We met, as Mooner stated, at a somewhat loud biker/cowboy bar in downtown Santa Fe. I brought Gloria as my bodyguard, and Mooner brought his psycho-therapist, who was convinced that the only hits on his blog were Ukrainian spammers, to check me out. A body can’t be too careful these days.


I was wondering at first if Mooner had sent a ringer; not only was this person drinking Margaritas instead of Carta Blanca, he was suspiciously coherent and articulate. I was feeling like the hookah-smoking caterpillar in Alice– “WHOOO are YOU?” But then he had a massive giggling fit at something his long-suffering therapist said, and nearly fell out of his seat. Yep, it was Mooner all right.


It was possibly at this point that Gloria decided she was oh so tired and we should leave.


Although Gloria might not agree, I thoroughly enjoyed the visit. I was also mildly intrigued by the superficial resemblance of our features, but laughed it off until I found out about Myrtle. OMG! Great Aunt Myrt who ran off to Texas with the itinerant peddler almost a century ago! Could it be?


After exhaustive investigations (“All signs point to yes,” sez the Magic 8-Ball), it appears that I may be a cousin from the long-lost Louisiana hillbilly branch of the Mooner clan. As if Mooner didn’t already have enough family problems.


Exciting no? Although for some reason, Mooner keeps muttering something about DNA testing…



OK, I lied about the “unaltered states” part as I added the word “finis” and also the quotation marks to delineate Cynthianne’s prose from that of my own. As for that whole “we might be family” dealio, I’m uncertain as to what I might say. So I’ll say nothing. Except to say that Cynthianne would be a quite welcome addition to the manic menagerie I call The Family Johnson. Why she might wish that inclusionary addition to her heritage is a mystery.

“Nuff said. Manana, y’all.


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Mel’s Adventures In Chicago; Songs In The Key Of Integrity

Sunday, February 19th, 2012


So. Today I’m posting the second story in my Guest Host Series. This one is by Melanie, the food writer who found the buttermilk cake recipe for me. Mel has been down in her back, down with kidney stones and she’s been getting down with some pain pills. Under normal circumstances I think it unlikely that she would write something for me to print. But I have always found that a stoned woman can be persuaded to step out of her comfort zone and into the madness. Here is Melanie’s story titled:


Adventures in Chicago


When Mooner put the call out for guest posts, I thought it would be really cool to do something. His requirement? “Write about something other than food, Mel.” Well, OK. I had to think about it. I mean, I have some stories to tell, but which one. And which one would there be no way possible I could parlay into a recipe somehow. Then it hit me.

I have long had a theory that the fall of our modern “civilization” started with the advent of the talk show. It started with Phil Donahue. The topics discussed were shocking at the time, but pretty tame now if you think about it. After Morton Downey , Jr. and Jerry Springer got in the game, it would never be the same again. There were many that came after. They all served the same purpose – to sensationalize things that are better left behind closed doors. Essentially, everything was out there and fair game. At first we were shocked, but then after a while it was just another slut or baby daddy story involving several members a trailer park from somewhere in America who were all sleeping with one another, who had to be swearing because all we heard were bleeps, and they really liked to beat the shit out of one another.

I was but a young, innocent soul in high school when all this was going on in the late 80’s and early 90’s. I still can’t decide if the talk shows or the series of events I am about to share with you were what lead to my unraveling and eventual cynical view of the world. Everything I knew changed after this long weekend trip to Chi-Town, and my life hasn’t been the same since.


That’s my school..back in the day…

I was in choir when I was in high school. It was kind of a big deal at my school – we weren’t pelted with missiles during performances and there was a huge cross section of the student body in the choirs (plural…there were so many in the program that multiple choirs were necessary). We had awesome concerts – several a year. I myself had my share of duets and solos. It was a great time and I actually learned a great deal. My junior year of high school we actually sang in Carnegie Hall over Thanksgiving weekend. Yep. That big. The choir that went to New York that year and then to Chicago the following year was the A Capella Choir. Not everyone got in – you had to prove yourself to the director of the program. The A Capella Choir was primarily juniors and seniors with the occasional sophomore – but they were only boys. There was an over abundance of girls in choir, so there was no way any of us were breaking in earlier…also, we really had to be good. If not, we were destined to spend an eternity in Girls Choir ringing bells and wearing shitty robes that were worn out. I felt pretty good about myself for making it there.


This is the choir…sorry folks, but I was absent that day. You won’t find me in the picture!

Ok, ok…I feel like Mooner, getting off on a tangent somewhere in southeast Michigan. So, senior year we went to Chicago to have a session with some big time choir director at Northwestern University. I could not tell you his name now, but he was a very nice man. We spent a couple of hours with him and the rest of the time, with the exception of the required dinners and shows we saw at night, we were pretty much left to our own devices. There were 65 high school juniors and seniors. There were 4 adult chaperones – the choir director, her daughter and two moms. If there were more adults there I do not remember them. Why? Well, what in the hell do you think we were all doing with that free time and a floor full of hotel rooms to ourselves? We got shitfaced! I think maybe 11 people didn’t drink. Maybe. I sure as hell did. I was with my friends and we were pretty tame in comparison to the other shenanigans going on all around. It was a roaming party. There were certain rooms were a few people would hang, and others would stop by to see what they had to drink. We were the beer/Southern Comfort room. I don’t know why. That is just what we got out hands on. The big party room, I never actually made it to…it was on the other side of the floor, and I could never remember the room number, and it was all the way on the other side of the floor (see, some things never change…if its too far away, I probably don’t need it. And in this case, I was soooooo right!!). Party room got its booze from a kid we will call Willy. His brother lived in Chicago and did his little brother a solid and spend a couple hundred bucks on whatever they wanted. They got enough to fill a big old aluminum garbage can with a jungle juice concoction. It lasted them most of the weekend. Willy, like the rest of us, had three other students staying in his room. So, there were those four guys, plus three girls, some of whom where dating boys from that room. They were the fixtures. One of the wanderers (who came to the room I was a fixture in) was a girl we shall call Cherie. She had kind of a “reputation” if you know what I mean. I didn’t know if it was true, but after that weekend I had an idea.

So, Miss Cherie, the wanderer, was trying her bestest to whore it up while away from home – the family was a bunch of Bible thumpers. I am pretty sure she spent no time sober the entire time we were gone. She was drinking and smoking and hitting on everything with a dick. Since she was known for being kinda skanky, everyone was saying no. She finally stumbled her way to the Party Room, and started grinding on Willy (whatever, total hearsay…I know…but, since the details from everyone I heard it there were the same I kinda gotta believe them), and he was one raging hormone ready to go. He, from what I understand, did refuse her at first as he was busy playing poker (the card game…he wasn’t poking any other her…) and she started crawling on the floor (which she did when she stopped by the room I was hanging in) moaning, “Somebody fuck me!” Well, Willy’s willy heard this and he did. She was on the floor on the far side of the room under the window and he was bouncing all over her, doing as she asked. From what I understand, the other guys were cheering him on, because oh yeah, there were 7 or 8 other people in the room (important later). News of these developments spread through the entire hotel within about five seconds. I hear some old booze hound was looking for her after Willy finished.


Well, booze hound was in for a disappointment. Cherie, was escorted back to her room and proceeded to pass right out. And I take back what I said about her being drunk the whole time. She must have had a wicked hangover Sunday morning as we boarded the bus to come home. Her hangover was made worse as she claimed to “not remember anything” about the night before. Convenient. No worries. Leave it to some teenagers to help her “remember”. The whole six hour ride home, Cherie was asked over and over again, “Who’s in me?” By Monday morning the rest of the school knew. By Tuesday morning she couldn’t take it anymore. She went to one of the guidance counselors and relayed what had been going on, but that she didn’t remember anything happening like what everyone was saying. Sorry, but it wasn’t Vegas, baby. What happens in Chicago, doesn’t stay in Chicago. It follows you back to high school.

The counselor did not keep things confidential. She went to the principal. At that time a list of all the students on the trip were made. The list of kids they didn’t think did anything were called to see “Mr. Right” and the kids they thought were wasted the whole time, “Mr. Wrong”. We had a concert that Friday night and of the 65 of us, there were 23 performing. Willy was not among them. He was expelled. Cherie too was absent. She never came back to school (Willy was quite popular and she was getting threats or something like that.) and she was allowed the “graduate” in January. Bitch. I made it to the performance. Monday morning while sitting in AP English, my teacher (who HATED the choir director) looked at me with a smug grin and said, “Mel, you’re up.” I was called to speak with Mr. Right. Now since I had already told my parents what happened, and the one week suspension wasn’t counting against anyone, I wasn’t going to lie to him. I took my suspension like a champ. Side note, my AP English teacher seemed to have a new found respect for me upon my return to school. In total, all but about 20 kids were suspended. Remember I said only 11 weren’t drinking. Yep, there were some liars. We made the fucking paper. It was a long article too. I was surprised they didn’t publish the names of all of us that were suspended.

So, like I said, many things changed right then. My father, who is the biggest alcoholic I have ever met, decided to be a total hypocrite and ground me. This, after years of hearing stories of all the trouble he got into when my age, made me sick. My mom was proud of me for telling the truth. I am sure she was kind of pissed too, but at least I didn’t lie about it. My choir director and many other teachers also appreciated the honesty on the parts of the students that were suspended but had never been in trouble before (like me…and there were several of us). And then there were the members of the choir who were very judgmental. Many relationships were never the same.

So did that cloud my view on the world after? Perhaps. Within a few months my parents separated and we moved away from my father. That is one relationship not even worth saving. But that is another story for another day. I finished high school and here I am today. I guess I have just been walking down memory lane recently because my twenty year reunion is coming up. Not sure if I’ll make it or not. I will just have to see where life has me at that point.

Hope you got a laugh or two out of this! [Finis]


Thanks, Mel. I love stories about doing the right thing. It’s a pretty day here, so I’m taking the animals out to the fishing dock for some cold beer and left-over BBQ from last night.

Manana, y’all.

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Quincy Is First Guest Host; Thank-Q For Common Sense Is Here

Thursday, February 16th, 2012


So. Quincy, of Thank, Q For Common Sense, is a proud and thoughtful man. Quincy is a model for the man you want your daughter to marry. Q is a man I’m proud to call friend, and a friend to whom I look for sound judgments. I have been bugging the ever-loving-shit out of him to be a guest host here, and he has finally relented.

I know he held his nose when he hit the “Send” button on his email server to deliver the contents for this guest post. When his wife asked him, “Honey, are you sure your reputation can handle the association with Mooner Johnson?” and then said resignedly, “OK, Quincy, it’s your reputation,” I’m certain that Quincy’s mind was on a higher plane; I know that he hopes to inject some rational thought into the cesspool that is this bloggie.

But me, I don’t really give a shit how Quincy justified sinking to my level, I’m just glad he did. So it is now my great pleasure to provide you with something you never get here—Common Sense. Please welcome Quincy and his post titled:


Stop Choosing Emotions Over Common Sense

“First of all, I’m honored to grace the pages of This blog is simply pure entertainment. It’s “Blazing Saddles” meets “Seinfeld” with the hilarity and creativity of the writing. I some times wonder what even makes a man think some of the things that are printed here, but then I come to the only conclusion: it’s just the mind of Mooner. Well, I want to thank [him] for the opportunity to be immortalized within the walls of his humble, cyber abode.

When I first started my blog, it was called “Thank, Q for Common Sense” for a reason. I felt the desire to inject some “common sense” into the blogging world. Although people are welcomed to blog about whatever they would like, I thought there were too many blogs that lacked perspective. So many blogs seemed as if they were based on what the writer felt from the heart instead of from the brain.

I didn’t want to do that. I wanted my blog to be strictly based on logic and perspective because that’s how I try to live my life. Because of that, it gets frustrating to come across people who don’t have the same concept. I wish people would stop choosing emotions over common sense. Just because you like something or someone doesn’t mean that you should defend that idea/person at all costs.

I remember when the Chris Brown / Rihanna incident happened how so many people on Twitter were coming to his defense. “Well, we don’t know what Rihanna said to him that pissed him off.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance.”

“Leave Chris Brown alone.”

Really? So, simply because you like the guy (or you’re a fan), he isn’t guilty of anything? R. Kelly. Charlie Sheen. Lindsay Lohan. I can go on-and-on. These people have been accused of some heinous acts yet they’re even more popular than ever. Why? Because you like their music or they make you laugh in a sitcom or movie. Ummmm, okay.

Well, I think that’s what’s wrong with this country. We use our emotions to make decisons (which wind up being irrational). Everything offends us because we’re too emotional. It doesn’t matter if it’s a true statement or not because common sense isn’t factored into the equation. If it hurts our feelings, then we lash out. We’ll even lash out over something that has nothing to do with us. Twitter blew up a couple of days ago from people defending Whitney Houston’s substance abuse problem after her death. People who didn’t even know her were pissed off at just the mere thought that someone who was in rehab as recently as last year was speculated to have overdosed… because they like her music. I even had someone on Facebook get mad at me for not Liking her “We Love Whitney” fan page. I told her respectfully that I didn’t want to join the page which resulted in her Unliking my fan page.

Wow. Because I don’t feel the same way you do about a person, I’m of no use to you any more, huh? So be it.

People, I’m tired. I’m tired of being the person who tries to put myself in other people’s shoes to understand their point. I’m tired of stating a fact only to have it offend someone because it applies to them or someone they know. I’m tired of being the voice of reason in an unpopular situation.

Psych! No, I’m not. LOL! That stuff doesn’t affect me at all. In fact, that’s actually what drives my blog. The more ignorance I encounter, the more posts I type. I shall continue with my message because some things just need to be said. I will “blog ’til I fall” and hope that I can just get one person to stop and think. You don’t have to agree with me, but at least consider things from someone else’s perspective.

This country used to be mentally tough. What happened?”


This is Mooner again. See what I mean—isn’t that the logic you want your daughter to wake up to every morning? Don’t we all have one of those emotional dealies he spoke of in our life?

Thank you, Quincy, for being my first ever guest hoster—Thank-Q, Thank-Q, Thank-Q. Me, I’m grabbing an icy-cold Carta Blanca beer and joining Streaker Jones on the patio to smoke a dube. I think I need to reflect on why I still dream of a three-way with Marilyn Monroe and Anna Nicole Smith.

Manana, y’all.



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